I was well-represented

11:00 AM today was the scheduled Branson Tea Party, an event staged by the Missouri branch of Concerned Women for America.  I did not go, but it wasn’t because I didn’t care.  We had spent our Friday (9:00 AM to 10:30 PM) visiting with some folks who are interested in a ministry we support, and having made that significant but very worthwhile time investment, I just couldn’t pull several more hours out of today.  However, Scott, Jessica, and Andrew went and represented our family well.  They stood shoulder-to-shoulder with many others for an hour along The Strip (roughly from Applebee’s to The Great Wall Buffet), holding sign and banners with messages like, “Obama is Change We Can’t Afford!”  “America Bless God” and “Stop Spending Our Money!”

They stood from 11:00 AM to noon, and then there was a gathering somewhere with some guest speakers from noon to 2:00 PM, but our gang left at noon.  There seems to be so little we can do to influence our elected officials anymore (besides pray and write them, which I do), so I’m glad our family was able to do something else concrete to respectfully voice our disapproval of the atrocious policies being acted upon in Washington, D.C.

Even trade?

Josiah was looking on craigslist at laptops.  He found someone who had one to sell but was not asking money for it.  Instead, s/he wanted to make a trade:  the laptop computer in exchange for “a very small chihuahua.”  Scott and I thought that was pretty funny!

18 and 32!!!

Today I am the proud and happy mom of an eighteen-year-old daughter.  Well do I remember her arrival in this world, and many are the memories of innumerable special and funny times with her in the intervening years.  I am again so grateful to God that we have been able to have her at home with us all this time.  What a blessing and delight Jessica is!

This afternoon, when Jessica arrived home from her birthday camping trip, (the reported details of which may someday be shared in another post – or possibly on her blog:  http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/mime4jesus/), she received an email announcing her ACT score.

Scores on this set of exams range from 1 up to 36, with 36 being a perfect score and the national average being about 20.   Only true geniuses and/or people who take the test over and over to improve their scores get a 36.  Jessica took it once and scored a 32!!! That means that she tested higher than 99% of the the students who took it.  Wow!  It also puts her well above the thresholds most colleges use in determining eligibility for academic scholarships.

I am so VERY proud and happy!

Way to go, Jessica!

The Fall of the Household Crusher

Patty’s Wed Nov 11, 2009 email to Scott:

“This afternoon, Andrew knocked over the big filing cabinet in our office.  Thankfully, no one was hurt and amazingly, the big printer still works.  However, the top file drawer cannot be closed, which means that the middle file drawer cannot be opened.

I will let you deal with Andrew on it.  I don’t care what (if any) consequence you give him.  If there is one, I would like to know (in writing) what it is, so I can carry it out.  The one thing I would ask is that you try to figure out a way to get the middle drawer open. . .”

Scott’s reply to Patty:

“How did Andrew manage to do this?  That is not an easy feat. . . Have you tried to scan or copy anything since it fell?”

Patty’s explanatory email back to Scott:

“He is a man of many skills, some less obvious than others.

“The story goes that he went up to sharpen his pencil.  Note that he had three sharp pencils in his school box on the dining room table, but…  While up there, he decided to play with the file cabinet drawers, pulling them out and pushing them in.  As you know, if you happen to get two drawers out at once, there’s enough weight to topple the cabinet, so I guess that’s what happened.  We heard a scream and then an enormous crash.

“Once Jessica ascertained that he was all right, I decided to stay downstairs for a while and not look, while the three of them worked to set things right.  Trying to reduce my stress, you know.

“There was much grunting, groaning, and breathless giving of directions.

“There’s a lot of slippery graphite under my desk (I guess where the pencil sharpener contents fell) and Andrew claims that the printer is scuffed.  The top drawer of the file cabinet is a bit lopsided and won’t close.  I am astounded that the printer still works.  No, I have not tried to copy or scan.”

NOTE:  The filing cabinet in question is a three-drawer jobbie, about three feet long (left-to-right), three-and-a half feet high, and nineteen inches deep.  When you open a drawer, the endless reams of junk files are filed sideways, perpendicular to the front of the cabinet.  Atop the file cabinet are positioned:

- the outgoing mail bin

- a four-tier set of plastic stackable in-boxes that hold paper, cardstock, and Scott’s incoming stuff

- two cell phone chargers

- an electric pencil sharpener

- an HP color laserjet multi-function printer

Furthermore, note that the printer, stationed atop the three-and-a-half feet off-the-floor file cabinet, measures (according to its online HP owner’s manual) 20.8 inches high, 22 inches deep, and 17.25 inches wide, giving it a volume of some four-and-a-half cubic feet.  Loaded as it is with four toner cartridges, it weighs in at a whopping 48.5 pounds, and all that volume and weight came crashing down when Andrew tipped the file cabinet over.

It’s truly amazing that the printer still prints, and it’s more amazing that Andrew wasn’t hurt.

This morning, Scott managed to bang, beat, coerce, or forcibly twist (I did not personally witness the procedure) the top file drawer back into a shape that once again allows it to slide in and out as designed.  Perhaps this is a sign that I need to sort and trash most of what’s been buried and unused in those three file drawers for the past ten or so years.  Hmmm…

Pepper’s red

A week or so ago frost threatened, so I went out at 11:00 PM to cover my 30 (!!!) fresh new pansies in the mailbox bed and the various things in containers on the front walk.  It was late and dark, and I was tired and chilly, so I basically kicked and shoved the various planters close enough to each other so that I could throw a sheet over them.  Mission accomplished, I retired for the evening.

The next morning, when I uncovered everything, some of the pepper plants’ branches had gotten tangled with each other, and in moving the planters back to their original locations, I managed to knock off a couple peppers with their associated leaves.  Sad day.  They were both still quite green (we like them red), so I took them inside and put one on the windowsill by the piano and one on top of the plant stand in the living room.  I had no idea whether or not peppers continue to ripen once they’re picked, but if not, I figured we’d just eat them green and be happy.

Well, glorious day, the one in the living room is now almost totally red!!!   It will be sweet and delicious very soon.

Proud and patriotic

Well, they did it again, those AIM kids.  Today I watched them present about half a dozen patriotic songs to a very enthusiastic crowd of veterans at the Red Roof Mall.  Yes, they did a superb job.  Yes, Josiah was Jeremiah Denton.  Yes, I bawled my eyes out.    Why DO I put on makeup before these things?

Home again, home again – VA trip, Sunday

Oct 4, 2009

The murderous United agent having disappeared from Planet Earth, we were forced to re-explain our overweight bag situation to yet another non-native-English speaker.  He got the concept, confirmed that Big Red was now under the magic 50 pounds, and waved us away.

We (Katie and I, not the non-native-English speaking United agent!) shared a brief goodbye hug, I tried unsuccessfully not to cry, and Katie fast-walked (evidently the default walking speed of college sophomores in northern Virginia) out to the car, while I made a beeline for security.

Once entrenched in the security line, I realized that I had failed to find a bathroom where I could empty out my water bottle (so as to keep it with me), so I had to trash it and resign myself to spending another $3 on a small water bottle without the sport cap.  Sigh.

Once my lovely hefty carry-on and I had made it through security and I my feet were again shod, the rest of the trip was uneventful.  I boarded the big plane when I was supposed to (only 30 minutes before departure, as this one was not continuing on overseas), and there was sufficient room in the overhead bin for my carry-on.  A nice gentleman hoisted it aloft for me.  I spent most of that flight and all of my two hour layover in Chicago systematically dissecting Josiah’s research paper.  (They really don’t pay us moms nearly enough for the proofreading we do.  Where’s MY bail-out and stimulus package?!??)  At O-Hare, I enjoyed a salad at Quizno’s that was quite tasty.    I returned to Springfield in a plane that was substantially (not) larger than the one in which I had departed (two and two seats, instead of one and two).  The carry-on still had to be gate checked.

It was about 5:00 PM Sunday when I arrived, and the rest of my family was there to greet me, having stayed in town after church and then gone bike riding on the Frisco Highline Trail.  I need to confirm exactly how many miles they rode, but I think it was something approaching twenty.  They were all excited, slightly sunburned, and worn out.  I was only excited and worn out.

We returned a borrowed bike to the Halls, had a fine dinner at Boston Market (note outstanding customer service by Felicia), and drove home.  All things considered – and it should be obvious that I do tend to consider ALL things – it was a trip I’ll always remember fondly and the best birthday present I have ever received.

“If you pay, I kill you.” VA trip – Sunday

Oct 4, 2009

So my brilliant idea was to pack my carry-on bag inside Big Red.  Having off-loaded all the junk food and carrot cake, there was plenty of room in Big Red.  I could fill the carry-on and then pack dirty clothes, the backpack, and other odds and ends in the remaining space around it.  All I’d have to carry with me would be my shoulder bag/purse, and that would be WONDERFUL.

With much effort (that I’m not smart enough to understand, much less explain), Katie eventually got my bag checked online.  It took much more effort to print out the baggage claim document and boarding passes, but after re-wiring the hotel’s guest computer, she managed the printouts, as well.  We also saved Scott something like $10 by checking the bag online.  Katie was especially pleased that we would NOT have to stand in the long, snaky normal line at the United counter, but would be able to walk right up, turn in Big Red, (not collect $200), say goodbye, and send me straight to security.  It would be so sweet.

Sunday morning, I was up early and Katie was not.  She did tumble out of bed 6.3 minutes before our scheduled departure.  We arrived at Dulles to learn that we would have to pay to park (“$4 for the first hour or any part thereof”), but when we got inside, Katie was absolutely correct.  The check-in line at the United counter was exceedingly long, but we smugly walked past all those poor souls and straight up to the short (one person, as I recall) line designed for well-prepared folks who had checked their bags online.

When it was my turn, I presented my I.D. and the paperwork Katie had printed out while Katie hefted Big Red onto the little metal pass-through step.  I believe I have mentioned before that in northern Virginia there are no employees hotels, restaurants, airports, or airlines for whom English is their native language.  The gentleman I faced at the United check-in station was no exception.  Our conversation went like this.

United Agent:  We haff a probe-lem.

Me:  We do?

United Agent:  Yes.  Your bag iss over.

Me:  Excuse me?

United Agent (pointing to the LED display above Big Red):  Your bag iss over.  See?

Me (slowly realizing that he thought my bag weighed too much):  You’ve got to be kidding!

United Agent (looking as serious as a 9/11 attack):  The bag iss OVER!

Me (studying the LED that said “60″ in red numbers):  Well, what’s the limit?

United Agent:  The bag only weighs fifty.  It is sixty.  It iss OVER.

Me (realizing I will now have to fork out more of Scott’s money to pay for my overweight bag, and that it will probably be more than the $10 we saved by checking it online):  So how much more do I have to pay?

United Agent:  NO!  If you pay, I kill you!!!

Me (shocked, slightly embarrassed, and wondering if I should be scared):  You KILL me?!?!?

United Agent:  I kill you.

For once I was stunned into silence.  Security is the watchword for air travel today, and now an airline employee is going to KILL me (in front of God and everyone) just because my bag is overweight?  I didn’t know what to say.

The United Agent leaned forward and said in a soft and conspiratorial tone, “One hundred twenty-five.”

Me:  Dollars?

United Agent:  Yace.

Me (laughing nervously):  Well, I can’t do that.  What should I do?

United Agent:  You take something out.  Then you come back to me.

He ushered us away from the counter.  Now what?  I couldn’t just take ten pounds’ worth of things out of Big Red and throw it away!  Everything in that suitcase needed to go home with me!  If I couldn’t get it home in checked bag under the plane, I’d have to take it home in a (you guessed it) – carry-on bag with me inside the plane.  Sigh.

Of course, there were no tables or any other horizontal surfaces on which to open and dissect Big Red’s contents, so we ended up stepping a few feet out of the short line and simply flopping Big Red on the floor for this procedure.

First we extricated the carry-on bag.  Next, I tried to figure out what relatively lightweight things I could shove into the carry-on bag for the homeward jaunt.  We pawed through dirty clothes, the backpack and other miscellany, madly flinging and stuffing. We tried to ignore the other passengers who were surely watching us and thinking about Yours Truly, “oh, the poor fool.”  Then we zipped both bags shut again and returned to the counter, where we had to wait behind one customer (who had been smart enough to keep HIS online-checked bag under the magic 50 pounds), and where our friendly murderous United Agent was now nowhere to be seen.

Packing, packing – VA trip, Saturday night

Oct 3, 2009

Saturday night, as I began packing up – no small endeavor, as you will soon realize – Katie told me that, instead of taking me to the airport and dropping me at the curb, she’d park and go in with me.  I told her I didn’t think that was necessary.  After all, hadn’t she picked me up at the curb when I arrived?  And hadn’t all been was well?  She, however, felt that it would be best if she went in with me.

You see, Katie has her dad’s genes for creative financing, and she has been using her car to make a little cash on the side by shuttling folks to and from the airport for a fee.  I think it’s about a 35 minute or so drive from Patrick Henry to Dulles.  When she travels home and back, she has to arrange to get to and from the airport, and I guess she figured if someone else can run a taxi service, she can, too.  Between all those trips and her own many trips through Dulles as a passenger, she has become very familiar with that airport.

I asked if she’d have to park at Dulles.  “No, the first thirty minutes is free, and we’ll check your bag online, so I’ll be in and out really quick.”

“Are you SURE the first thirty minutes is free?”  That is the case in Springfield, but Springfield is small potatoes compared to Dulles, which is supposedly one of the busiest airports in the U.S.

“I think so, but now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever actually parked at Dulles.”  You know time-constrained college kids:  she just drops her departing passengers at the curb and waits for her arriving passengers in the cell phone lot.

At that point, she powered up her laptop and went online to check my bag.  I studied the monster bag, the carry-on bag, and my shoulder bag/purse and tried to figure out a way to simplify the packing procedure.  I had come to Virginia with a LOT of stuff:  business casual clothes for classes; jeans and tennies for touring; a gift basket for Katie’s roommates’ parents; our “Hail to the Chief” board game; my Bible and notebook; a few other books for plane rides; my knitting; Josiah’s research paper to proof; a backpack for hauling changes of clothes to and from campus; a carrot cake; and last, but definitely not least, a huge stash of junk food for Katie.  Most all of that had been crammed into Big Red, which had been (for a fee of $25) checked on the outbound flights.  I had kept the shoulder bag/purse and carry-on with me, sort of.

My carry-on is a very nice little suitcase that serves me very well.  It is deemed by the airlines to be a standard acceptable size for carry-on bags.  That is all well and good, but there’s a slight problem when my carry-on travels on the crop dusters that fly from Springfield to Chicago:  it won’t fit in their overhead bins.  Not to worry.  It is gate-checked, which means that it’s not a checked bag, I don’t have to pay a checked bag fee, and I get to keep it with me, UNTIL I get to get to board the plane.  At that point, it receives a little green neon tag, I get the tag stub, and my trusty carry-on is taken from me and thrown into the bottom of the plane, while I contort myself into the top of the plane.  When we arrive in Chicago, I get off the plane and stand there at the gate, and a friendly baggage handler pulls out my bag and returns it to me.

This system works all right, but it is a bit cumbersome, especially if time is of the essence.  Which it usually is in air travel.  I have learned that it’s much like the army:  hurry up and wait.  For example, when I arrived in Chicago on my way to Virginia, I deplaned, claimed my carry-on, and began the cross country hike from the far end of Terminal B to the farther end of Terminal F.  I had an hour before my next flight, but when I arrived at the appropriate Terminal F gate fifteen minutes later, it was announced that my next flight would be boarding in five minutes!  What?  Did I really want to wolf down my pre-packed lunch, clamber aboard, and sit in a cramped airplane for forty minutes before departure?  Heck no!  I wanted to eat my lunch in a leisurely manner, use a bathroom that is bigger than a postage stamp, and board the plane ten minutes before departure.

So that is exactly what I – the inexperienced traveler of the year nominee – did.  And then I realized the error of my ways.  It seemed that while I munched my turkey and Swiss and watched those 438 people board ahead of me, they put all their carry-ons in the overhead bins, leaving me, the late boarder nowhere to stow my carry-on!  And of course, I was seated three rows from the back of the plane, so getting the bag back up front to be gate checked was out of the question.  A nice man managed to find some space in one bin and he did muscle my bag into it, but I am pretty sure mine was the very last bag to be stowed anywhere in the top of that plane.

Going home, I wanted to avoid these issues.  I didn’t want to drag my carry-on through the Chicago airport a distance roughly equivalent to a marathon route, and I didn’t want to have to board the Dulles to Chicago flight an hour early just to insure my bag’s position in a bin.  I certainly didn’t want to pay to check the carry-on; I just really didn’t want to have to deal with it at all.  And then a flash of true brilliance sped through my cranium!

(to be continued. . . )

Star-Spangled birthday – VA trip, Sat afternoon

Oct 3, 2009

Departing the Natural History Museum, we trekked more or less next door to the Museum of American History and had a fine lunch (one of us – chicken fingers and fries, one of us – veggie pizza and apple) at the Stars and Stripes Cafe.  Then it was upstairs to the main event:  the Star-Spangled Banner.

Yes, the actual flag that flew over Ft. McHenry during the Battle of Baltimore, the very one that inspired Francis Scott Key to write “The Star-Spangled Banner,” is on display at the Smithsonian!  Our family had been to the American History Museum some seven years ago, but the flag was being renovated or something then, and we didn’t get to see it.  This was a really big deal to me, being as how I am SO patriotic.  You know, for years I have made it a habit when at Silver dollar City  to take the kids to the Old Schoolhouse so we could all hear “Miss Bonnie Jean” once again tell the Battle of Baltimore story.   I love the story, and her telling of it is (was) superb.  It’s always made me want to see that flag, and standing there in the Smithsonian, I was so excited that it was about to happen.

We walked up a sloped hallway with displays and verbiage that tell about the history of what led up to that event.  Then we turned a corner, and there, in an enormous floor-to-ceiling glass case is THE Star-Spangled Banner.  It’s lying flat (sort of) and the whole area is kind of dark with no photography allowed, because light causes the material to deteriorate.  You can walk along past the flag, or just sit on benches and look at it.  Parts of the flag are gone due to wear and tear, pieces torn off years ago as souvenirs, etc., so it’s not as big as it was when created.  I don’t remember the exact dimensions, but I think what remains is something like 30 feet by 35 feet.  It’s a huge flag.

I stood there and looked at it for a long time and cried.

Then we walked out the other side and down a corresponding hallway that tells about its history since the battle.  And then we were back in the brightly lit main part of the museum, but oh, what an experience that was!

In the next few hours, we saw many other great exhibits, although the dollhouse was gone in order to have its lighting system updated (boo hoo).  We saw many, many precious and unique items, most of which I can’t recall right now, but I do remember this one:  the actual table and the chairs Grant and Lee sat in at Appomattox.  Wow.  We also walked through the history of all the wars the U.S. has fought from the Revolution to the Gulf Wars.  That was one L-O-N-G exhibit.

We had a full, fun day, took the Metro back to the car (playing the alphabet game on the way), drove back to the hotel, watched a little TV, and then went on a wild goose (or chicken) chase for KFC.  I think we went almost into the next county trying to follow directions provided by the hotel, but it was really all my fault.  I, the navigatrix, was looking at the KFC directions at the bottom of the page, while it turns out there were also KFC directions at the top of the page; the latter restaurant being only just around the corner from the hotel, and the former being in some location known only to God himself.  At least after we’d driven in a 45-minutes circle, we were good and hungry when we found the nearer one.

That night, I began packing up my stuff for the journey home.

(to be continued. . . )